


thunder snow

by ceraunos



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: (brief mentions of they are looking after them), Children, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Comfort, Historical, M/M, Winter, World War II, kinda vaguely sorta there's no specific setting but that's what i had in my brain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:01:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceraunos/pseuds/ceraunos
Summary: Joe wakes with the sticky aching feeling that comes with no longer knowing how much time has passed.‘Nicolò,’ he murmurs, voice thick with disuse.‘Shush,’ Nicky whispers, so quiet it could be a rustle in the wind.~tog gift exchange 2020 entry
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45
Collections: The Old Guard Gift Exchange 2020





	thunder snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isabelle Hemlock (isabelle_hemlock)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isabelle_hemlock/gifts).



> happy christmas!! this is actually part 1 of 2 because i had a breakdown and started something else completely different but it's not finished yet so i guess that'll turn up soon (or in march lol), i hope you enjoy!

Joe wakes with the sticky aching feeling that comes with no longer knowing how much time has passed. He blinks blearily until he can make out the haze of Nicky’s face no more than a metre away, pale and drawn in the endless darkness. He reaches out to wrap a hand around where he think’s his ankle should be and tries not to react when Nicky flinches back automatically.

‘Nicolò,’ he murmurs, voice thick with disuse.

‘Shush,’ Nicky whispers, so quiet it could be a rustle in the wind. He does lean into Joe, though, dropping his chin to Joe’s shoulder close enough that Joe can feel the warmth of his breath on his skin like a balm.

Snow scratches against the walls of the tiny hayloft, the sound of it unearthly in a way that even after living so long still shudders through Joe. In the distance something that could just as easily be thunder as artillery rumbles as if the whole sky were sighing in fury. A small voice to the left of him whimpers and every nerve inside Joe tightens with empathetic fear. When he reaches out, he finds the child’s hand already covered, squeezed tightly in Nicky’s fingers.

There are six of them in total, six children huddled in eves of a hayloft no bigger than couple of metres each way, barracked in behind old machinery, haybales, and old planks hastily drawn across into a false wall. They’d been so close to the border before the storm had struck; the same smuggling road they’d been following for months, bringing food in and children out, now impassable.

It’s must have been days, perhaps even weeks, now, Joe thinks, but the slurred sound of soldiers’ voices still drifts up from below. A gun cracks in the woods, not far from them, and Joe feels Nicky almost vibrate with alertness next to him.

_ ‘We have to kill them,’  _ Joe taps out in a rhythm on his wrist, feeling the heat of his pulse below his thumb. They’ll burn the barn when they leave, Joe thinks, already planning a new route to work until the spring comes.

Nicky catches his palm in his and presses a single finger into the centre, ‘yes.’

_ ‘Now?’ _

_ ‘How many do you think there are?’ _

_ ‘I don’t know. Twenty? Thirty?’ _

_ ‘Now.’ _

~

It is only later, with the orange-black smoke still rising behind them in the distance, two children in his arms and another sleeping on Nicky’s shoulders, that Joe looks up at the sky.

‘Look,’ he murmurs, swaying towards Nicky to get his attention and nodding upwards.

It’s still snowing, but between the thick blanket of cloud spots of ink-black sky break through, scattered with flecks of light. From the corner of his eye he catches Nicky smile, quiet and private. 

‘Do you know,’ Nicky says with dry amusement, ‘it does seem appropriate to spend Christmas in a barn.’

Joe only stops laughing, lightheaded and giddy with the sudden rush of relief that swoops through him, when the child stirs in his arms, blinking up at him eyes almost as bright as the stars.

‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ he softly murmurs, and then, moving close enough that he brushes Nicky’s side with every step, ‘merry christmas, my heart.’

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


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